Critical Miss

"I think we might need to call it," Tilda said, her breathing laboured.

Arther shook his head vehemently. "The Lich is only going to build its army again. C'mon, we're closer than before! I just need one good opening to sever this morbid malcontent's head from its spine."

He bellowed out a war cry and spun, magic sword clattering off the bodies of half a dozen skeletons like a macabre xylophone. It was difficult to pierce, slash, or jab a creature with no flesh. Only decapitating blows would do, and there was only so many head removals one could perform before fatigue took hold, or worse, the fight became less interesting to hear about.

"You should have brought a hammer," Tilda chided.

"You know how hard it is to find a magical hammer?! All the stores sell are swords!" Arther puffed out. He switched to left hand swings, popping heads off at a much reduced pace while giving his right arm a break. Despite his outward enthusiasm, the battle was taking its toll on him as well.

"Yes...your weakness calls to me," the Lich hissed, its hollow sockets glowing an ethereal blue, "I can feel your strength waning."

The ground underneath them burst open. A thousand boney hands reached out, snaring the feet and legs of all three adventurers. When they knocked off one, another three took its place. Their grip was like iron, pulling down Arther and binding his limbs. Tilda tried staying atop a barrier of ice, but in the process backed up too close to a wall. From a buried sepulchre, another dozen arms reached out and latched on, binding her to the wall and preventing her hands from casting spells. Mork was the last to fall, and only after the Lich manifested chains made of the metallic-streaked material that could only be dragonbone to snap onto his wrists and ankles.

"Can't stand a fair fight?" Arther taunted, his efforts to free himself thwarted at every turn, "Let's have a go, one on one, no weapons or magic, and I'll show you all 206 of your friggin' bones!"

"Don't taunt the necromancer," Tilda chastised, "They're touchy about the bones thing."

The Lich languidly shook its head, twitching a finger and sending hands to clasp over both adventurer's mouths. "The living are all the same. You reach out for bonds of affection, of friendship. But look where they've gotten you." It strolled over like a professor administering the final exam, then kneeled down before the knight. "Your flesh fails. Your hope, your desires...ephemeral sparks in that simple meat you call a mind. There is only one real constant, one immutable fact, one immutable force in the universe. Soon, the world will kneel at the feet of the one true power...accept the inevitable. Accept Death." With that, it pointed its index finger at Arther. Ghostly energies sizzled forth from the digit, and Arther knew instinctually that this was some kind of fatal magic. A single touch, and he'd be just another puppet in the Lich's play for global conquest.

Flash.

A blinding white light exploded in the cavern. The horde of skeletons hissed from open jaws, their eyeless gazes all falling on the entrance. The adventurers took moments to blink away the flash, heads spinning to find the source.

There, floating above the staircase that led down into the Lich's lair, floated a gorgeous woman. Her long golden hair flowed like water around her, held aloft by a nonexistent breeze. Her cherubic features had an air of wisdom tempered by the kindness of her smile that reached all the way to her chocolate brown eyes. She was naked, her body a tantalising display of feminine beauty from head to toe. A brilliant aura of golden light surrounded her, its luminescence like the sight of dawn after the darkest night.

"You're wrong, Lich," the woman said, her voice strangely familiar to the adventurers.

The skeletal sorcerer flinched away from the penetrating glare. "Oh? And what am I wrong about? Are these your miscreants? Do you have some delusional hope of saving them without arms or armour? Speak, child. Tell me; what exactly am I wrong about?"

"The strongest power in the universe isn't death."

She reached out her right hand in a closed fist, then opened it. Light exploded out from the Lich's body, shafts pouring through the many spaces where flesh once covered its gaunt frame. It howled as it writhed, covering the walls in countless twisting shadows. As the incandescence speared outward, the magics holding the undead minions together melted under its power. The filaments of magic binding their forms fizzled and snapped, and one after another, the creatures fell apart into piles of inanimate bone.

"It's light."

In moments, the cavern was silent. The glow from within the Lich faded, and the collection of dusty bones settled to the floor as just another in the countless morass of remains. The restraints holding down the three adventurers fell apart in a similar fashion. The woman swiped a hand over the adventurers, and the fatigue and strain from their long battle vanished in an instant. The minor wounds, cuts and scrapes mostly, healed just as quickly. One by one they got back to their feet, dusting off the powdered bone from their clothes.

"I must say miss, I'm profoundly grateful for your impeccable timing!" Arther said, tossing her one of his trademark smiles before averting his eyes to the side, "Umm...let me look for something to cover yourself with." Finding nothing but the creepy vestments of the Lich, he instead removed his own cloak and handed it to his saviour, which she took with a grateful nod.

"Glad to help. I always hated that bonehead."

Arther chortled. "A woman after my own heart! Ah, but, may I ask what spell you performed. It was unlike anything I'd ever seen before!"

Tying the cloak around her like a towel, the strange woman elaborated. "Light magic heals, which puts it as the antithesis of necromatic black magic. Basically, I healed it, and the magic holding the Lich together failed. The spirit of the entity that once was the Lich is on its way to where it needs to go, and the souls disturbed by its actions are freed.

"Marvelous! A powerful warrior against the undead AND a healer too! Gosh, how powerful would we be with TWO healers in our ranks!" Arther said, lifting his head slightly to daydream about being effectively invincible.

Tilda didn't show the same level of deference. She looked the stranger up and down with a wary eye, informally declaring herself to be the personal dentist to the proverbial gift horse. "And who exactly are you supposed to be? A healer just shows up out of nowhere to save us at the last minute, yeah right. What will this rescue cost us?"

But in the face of her cynicism, the woman beamed. "Oh Tilda, never change."

Tilda's eyebrows raised. "Wait, hold up. Are you-"

"Grace," she said, her glow fading to a gentle background radiance, "My name is Grace."

Realization settled over the faces of the party. Arther was confused the longest, but got it eventually with a wide-eyed look of revelation, like he'd solved a puzzle. Mork didn't look the least bit surprised.

"YOU FOUND WHAT YOU WERE LOOKING FOR?" the big man asked.

"I did. And I want to apologise for leaving when you needed me. I had a lot of things to work through."

Arther waved her words away. "Think nothing of it. Such perfect timing! Definitely a story for the next bar we visit. And, after much thought on my part, I must apologise too. I was taking your incredible strength and courage for granted! We would be honoured to have you on the team once more." He paused, looking at Tilda. After a beat, and a jab with his elbow, she spoke.

"Sorry I didn't take you seriously. I'm used to cleric types trying to burn me for witchery, so I've always been a little wary of you. I'm...I'll work on it." The words sounded like they had to be dragged out of her, but they were sincere enough. Grace gave her a nod of appreciation.

"Thank you. And thank you, Mork."

Mork snapped her an affirming gesture. "MORK HAPPY TO SEE YOU REACH CATHARSIS."

They found the skull of the Lich in the pile of bones amidst its tattered cloak, proof of a contract completed. They exited the cavern, walking shoulder to shoulder, proudly stepping into the midday sun.

"What are you going to buy with your quarter of the bounty?" Arther asked Grace.

"Well, first?" she said, looking down at herself, "Probably some clothes."